Blind Carnival
by kkolmakov
Summary: She writes trashy erotic novels. He is willing to hand her the reigns. It should be a sappy romantic story, but it isn't. Modern AU where everything is just smut and guffaws. Grew out of two prompts for "We are Scattered Through Time and Space": "blind date" and "carnival". Skip the first two chapters if you have read them in WaStTaS" *No Infringement Intended*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The first two chapters are identical to the ones in "We are Scattered through Time and Space." Skip to number three now if you have read them. **

Over years you became very apt in ignoring Thea's escapades but this one seems to be beating all possible records of intrusiveness and craftiness. Oh, "intrusion", good word, you haven't used it for awhile. "Intrusion", "intrude"... "He intruded into her private space, his eyes dark and..." And what? What were his eyes like?

"Wren, are you even listening to me?" "Yes, yes, I am here." You are wiping your keyboard with a sanitizing wipe, phone pressed to your ear with your shoulder. "So are you up for it? The date?" "Thea, it's ridiculous, of course I am not up for a blind date with a spotty teenage son of a strange lady neither you or I know very well." "First of all he is forty and an architect. Second of all, Mrs. Thorington is anything but strange. She goes into the same spa as I do." Oh, pardon me! How could you doubt the Mirkwood Spa and Salon stamp of approval?

"Thea, it is a completely mad idea." "We discussed it with Beatrice and she said that you sound perfect for John." Oh, she is Beatrice now? "No one can sound perfect, Thea. People are not cereal brands that can be classified by the amount of fiber in them. It only happens in stupid cheap love novels." You should know, you produce five a year.

"Wren, I'm calling my favour now." "Thea, no!" "Wren, you owe me one. Big time. You left me in the same house as your mother for the whole Christmas weekend and you weren't there." It is true. Your mother is a monster. But that is not even the problem. Thea is technically your stepmother. And you were in uni together.

"Thea..." You are whining. "Now, Wren, I have chosen my sacrifice. I'm coming to your place tomorrow, I'm bringing you a dress and shoes, and then you are going to dinner with Mr. John Thorington Esquire." "I'm busy tomorrow." "Doing what? None of your dashing, smirky and well-endowed men are going to run away from you, and you know why, Wren?" "Because they are not real?" You accept your defeat. "Because they are not real, Wren. Now get your head out of your… laptop and get out into the world." That was what you were trying to avoid for the past seven years.

**XXX**

You are standing in front of the restaurant forty minutes too early. You were so nervous that you rushed out of your flat without checking the clock. You see a bar in the next block and go there. You don't drink but you can at least sit. Thea's shoes are killing you. How can shoes be too big and cut through your skin at the same time?

You climb on a tall bar stool and curse your height. Or lack of it. Your feet are dangling but at least there is some relief in your burning soles. "A coke, please." The bartender nods. The bar is rather packed, people chat and a very fit blonde near you in leaning into a bloke standing near her.

The cogs swirl in your head. "She leaned into him and he felt the intoxicating spicy fragrance of her perfume. She wrapped her delicate fingers around the stem of his wine glass, her red indecent lips…" The bartender places two drinks in front of you. The second is an appletini. "From the gentleman at the end of the bar." You lift your eyes and freeze.

You are going through two mental processes at the same time. One is a peculiar mixture awe and appreciation. That is the most attractive man you have ever seen in your life! The second is hasty cataloging of all details. You can write five books about the dark luscious hair, strong willful profile, sensual lips and virile broad body. Let us face it, you probably will.

He gets up and comes closer. "Did I guess the drink?" The voice is velvet, molasses and other cliches in an hypnotic panties-dropping cocktail. Unfortunately, you can't write the allure of it into a book. You have to leave it to your reader's imagination. Let them imagine themselves how it vibrates through your body and makes you wet and trembling. No, that's too much. Instantly attracted to its owner? Too straightforward. Willing and…?

You realize you are quiet, your eyes are probably glossy. You really need to stop taking notes. "I don't drink." You point at coke with your eyes. He looks and then his gorgeous face is adorned with the most adorable embarrassed expression you have ever seen.

"Shoot, and I thought I was clever," he chuckles, "I guess I'm out of practice. Haven't done it in years." And yet you still got it, mister. Although the reformed womanizer finally looking for the real thing is such an overused trope. Probably because it works on most. "Do you mind if I sit?"

You discreetly check the clock on the wall. You have twenty six minutes left. "Sure," you smile, "but I have to leave in twenty minutes. I have an appointment." Vague is good. He is just so… everything… that you want to keep him for at least twenty minutes. He looks at the clock too. "Well, then I have twenty minutes to talk you into giving me your phone number."

**XXX**

He succeeds in thirteen. He is smart, funny and so sexy that you feel the need to squeeze your knees. You hardly notice that you are following the usual steps you have described so many times in your books. Blush, nod, laugh at his witty jokes, let him move a bit closer, smile when he smiles, fiddle with your glass.

He is good. In those thirteen minutes he makes it obvious that it is not something he normally does, that he had a nasty breakup or some tragic story couple years ago, the idea is important, specifics are usually vague, and he just couldn't let you leave without convincing you to give him a chance.

That is exactly why you never go out. Men like you. Apparently the red hair somehow tells them that you are up for it. Which you haven't been for the last eight years. Not since you met Allan and especially not since you lost him. You would think it would be written all over your face but most men can't read.

You surprise yourself and take a napkin. You write your number on it. He takes it in his long, elegant fingers and lifts a smooth black brow. The gesture counterintuitively still makes you squirm on your chair. Banalities shouldn't work, but there you are, imagining wiping this smug expression off his face with a bruising kiss. Ouch, that is really not something a sane real life woman would enjoy. Dealing with a bloody lip later would probably kill any drive in anybody.

"Is it fake?" "No," you take a sip from your coke. "Because I'm going through all the usual moves here and keep thinking that you are definitely not that kind of girl. And that you probably internally dying of laughter at my lame attempts to charm you." His bright blue eyes are laughing.

You smile back. "To my own astonishment, it is real. Try it." He fishes his phone out of the jacket pocket and dials. Your mobile is chirping in your clutch. You pick it up and stare at the screen. "John Thorington." You lift your eyes at him.

His eyes are wide open and he is staring at his screen. "Wren Leary," he slowly reads and then the cerulean irises are flooded by the dilated pupils. Ouch, too anatomical. He looks at you and start laughing. "Do you always give your number to random tossers in a bar a few minutes before your date?" "Do you always chat up random birds in bars before your dates?"

You look at each other and start laughing. "You were supposed to be boring and bookish, and I only agreed since my mother blackmailed me," he lifts his hands defensively. "You weren't supposed to look like a modern version of Maureen O'Hara!" "So that is your excuse? You were not even going to get to know that boring and bookish spinster better? Maybe she had a wonderful personality!" "I was still going to the restaurant! It's not like I was going to stand you up."

You are sitting on the bar stool, caged between the counter and his heavy body. When did he get so close? Your eyes are at same level and you dive in, pressing your lips to his. And then for the first time in eight years your writer's mind stops working. You have no words for comparison, you have no smart phrases regarding the texture of his lips and what kind of fireworks explode in your brain. You feel, you move and you sigh into his mouth. He grabs you and pulls you closer. Some half alive thought stirs in your mind about him being skillful and creative but then it dies with a hiss.

After a few delicious minutes, finally some cliches wake up in your dazed brain, you let go of his collar and move back. He is blinking like an owl. Maybe it has really been a while for him. One can't fake this look. "Now we are definitely not going to a posh stuffy restaurant," he is shaking his head. "Oh?" "We are going to that American travelling funfair at the North of the city. A girl who kisses like that needs candy floss and a teddy bear won for her at a shooting booth." You look at his puzzled. "You are so much fun," he smiles and pulls you into another kiss. You are going to take it as a compliment.


	2. Chapter 2

You drive you both to the funfair after changing into flats that you keep at the back of the car. If anything, this blind date is pleasurable experience just for that feeling when you take off these Spanish boots. Without the cursed heels you do not reach his shoulder. You try to ignore the iconic feeling of being delicate and fragile near him, but nothing helps.

You chat in the car, he is indeed an architect, you even know the research center on uni campus he designed. He has this low velvet voice that you always need to describe to explain why the heroine with a heaving chest is so affected by the hero's presence. Works in reality as well. Your car seems tiny and the spicy grassy cologne is driving you crazy.

This is the first man who has a corporeal body and manages to catch your attention in seven years. And the first man whom you kissed after your husband died. And the first you ever kissed the first day you knew him. To say nothing about doing it in the first half an hour after meeting him.

He indeed had a horrible divorce two and a half years ago, his wife having cheated on him with his partner in the firm. So he doesn't have either now. He laughs and says he likes to be a free range architect. You like his puns, and very very much like his hand stroking your fingers on the stick. He has very warm hands, and you are always cold.

Candy floss is indeed as good as you remember from childhood, and he actually wins you a plush toy in a shooting booth. It is a pink elephant and you can't stop laughing. He looks very smug until you tell him that you saw him greasing the palm of the carny. You sit in a ferris wheel carriage and somehow you very easily tell him about Allan. He nods and holds your hand, and then pulls you into him. For the first time you don't feel like a traitor getting so close to another man.

The knifethrower asks for a volunteer from the crowd and you giggle. You are pressed into John's side and then the blonde busty assistant come up to you two and shove the mike into John's face. "You, sir, would you like to impress your beautiful date with bravery and audacity?" You wince from the choice of words. Seriously, even you write better.

"Gladly, if you promise it will work on my date," he is laughing and you look at him in shock. "Are you mental?" You pull him down by his tie and are whispering hotly into his ear. "Can you imagine how unsanitary those blades are? What if he nicks you?" He is laughing more. "He promised that will impress my date, how can I say no?" He kisses your cheek and steps forward.

You clench your fists and chew your lips. The problem is not that you are worried about him. A bit, of course, but then again you are pretty sure they take this act around the world and know what they are doing. What worries you is the memories of how you were doing your research for _The Knife and the Heart_, your second most popular novel. How are your publishers even still in business with such taste?

It was two years into your widowhood and the first time you even remembered you had a body. Because all the Youtube videos and tutorial for impalement arts drove you into unexpected sexual frenzy. It was literally your porn. The artist on the screen takes out a blade, you unbutton your jeans, he moves his hand back before the throw, you take out a vibrator and so on, and so on.

You are grown-up woman and a mediocre writer, but even you know the sadomasochistic eroticism of the noble art of knife throwing and its place in classical literature. You also have a copy of _A Girl on the Bridge_. What you always considered slightly alarming in your kink is the fact that you are attracted to the human target, not the artist.

The assistant leads John to a wide board and two cuffs appear on the top of it. You breath in and bite your lip painfully. Your self control is slipping and you are shaking. The girl has to stand on a ladder to reach his lifted wrists and the shackles click. You are probably drawing blood from your tortured lip. You try to stop yourself from narrating in your head, but when have you ever managed it?

"She ran her hands over his spread body, his helplessness and immobility the best aphrodisiac for her. Her fingers lingered on the buckle of his trousers, and he exhaled loudly. "Do not speak," she murmured and he clenched his jaw. Her palm slid lower and cupped..."

You turn away from the act and close your eyes. You can do it, you can. You just have to breath through it and think about your mother. It can thwart any sort of excitement for you any day of the year. You slowly turn around and then the knife thrower in a ridiculous glittery costume steps out.

He takes out the first long blade and you look at John. He is smiling, completely relaxed and obviously enjoying himself. He doesn't seem like an adrenaline junkie to you. To think of it, since you met about four hours ago nothing seemed to really unsettle him. Maybe he is like that in general, nonchalant and cheerful. Meaning, the opposite of you. Well, the opposites attract.

With a swoosh the first blade flies, the crowd gasps and it drives into the board above John's right shoulder with a thump. Your inner walls clench, and you fist your hands. John gives out a chuckle. "How are you feeling, my man?" The knife thrower's mannerisms would be hilarious, weren't you so preoccupied with your increasingly stickier knickers. "Endlessly grateful that you are aiming above my waist." The crowd roars with laughter.

Your eyes fall below the said waist and then you push your face into the elephant. You hear the thump of the second knife and moan. You brace yourself for the next wave of text pouring into your feverish brain. "She lowered herself in front of him, holding his gaze and licked her lips. He groaned when her deft fingers unbuckled his belt and reached for the zipper. His raging erection was painful..." Thump! You jump up and practically bite into the plush toy.

You peek. There are two knives sticking above John's shoulders and one near his hip. Its companion follows on the other side. Thump! Oh... "If I were you, my friend, I would put your legs wider," the knife thrower pulls another blade out of his assistant's hand.

"Spread and open for her pleasure, he was breathing heavily, his wide masculine chest rising. She stepped back and pulled a narrow curved blade out of a scabbard on her thigh. With an experienced twirl of her slender wrist she sent the blade in the space between his inner thighs..." Thump! You yelp and bite into the poor dumbo.

The crowd is cheering and you dare to peek. The knife is three inches below John's… You give up and embrace it. You are thinking about his cock and there isn't much you can do about it. The assistant lets him out of the restraints and he bows to the clapping crowd. He is smiling and steps closer to you. "Have I impressed my date?" You jump at him and hang on him. He barks a laugh, picks you up under your bum and you hug his waist with your legs. The crowd roars in approval. You kiss him, and it is fervent and scorching, and all the other words you have ever used to describe it in your books. He moans into your mouth and you bite his bottom lip. "Take me home," you whisper into his ear and he nods.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here are the rules of engagement for this one, my lovelies :) For prompts send me names of two objects and I will put them into the next chapter, e.g. an apple and a top hat. Since it is all smut and no angst or drama, knock yourself out with the most absurd stuff! Don't worry to add more if someone else has already requested something, the more the merrier! Knowing you, my dearies, it will be so much fuuuuuun! :)**

His flat is closer and you tumble in, jerking off coats, his hands on the side of your face, yours on the button of his trousers. He is stroking your cheekbones with his thumbs, his lips skillful and demanding. Then he is pulling at his tie and you are pushing the suit jacket off his shoulders.

Except that is not what happens.

According to the laws of the genre how you get to the flat doesn't really matter. Most readers just want the characters finally get to it, so it is usually "he pulled her into a passionate kiss", forty miles away from the nearest bed, and then "their bodies fell into the sweet trap of his silken sheets". Funnily, silken sheets are horrible for sex. You bought a set especially to check. And you and Thea tried rolling and jumping on them. Not good.

No one wants to read about the awkward moment when you finally detangle from his grabby hands and have to find the key in your handbag, he is standing there panting, delectable as it gets, and then you have to sit into the car, somehow drive you for ten minutes and preferably not kill you both.

Allan died in a car accident. Driving is like sticking one's head into a freezer for you. You concentrate on the road. He clears his throat. "What do you do?" You screw your eyes at him. He is calmer too, none of that debonair look any more though, hair funnily sticking out, tie askew.

"I write trashy erotic novels. The paperback stuff with a ripped bloke and a maiden with a generous bosom on the cover." "Hm," he shifts on the seat to sit more comfortably. ""He pulled her into a searing kiss and the universe opened her its secrets" type of thing?" You give him another quick look.

He is smiling again. The crow's feet in the corners of his eyes are adorable. Is it his perpetual condition, being vastly amused by everything that is going on around him?

"Are you one of my readers?" "My mom is. I was bored once and flipped through it. Rather unnerving material." "Unnerving?" "Yeah, if that is what women expect from men, then you lot have to be in a constant state of disappointment with us." You sigh. You have this conversation with yourself more often than you care to admit.

"I don't think women realistically expect that from men. Most of the stuff in there would actually hurt or be itchy afterwards if you tried to translate it into real life. Like shower sex for example." He looks sincerely interested. "What about it?" Are you two actually having this conversation?!

"Water gets into your mouth if you open it there. If you have soap there, it's plain dangerous. If you don't, then there is… friction," you feel blush creeping on your cheeks. "Hm..." He seems to consider it in his head. "Right there, by the way. That's my building."

So, the two of you are standing in the lift, and it is a bit awkward but not painfully so. You walked through the hall decorously, said hello to a nice elderly concierge, who looked obviously surprised to see John bringing a girl home, which you think is another point to him, and there you are. He opens the door into his flat and flips the switch. It is nice, neat and cozy. Lots of books and stylish armchairs in the living room. "Can I use your washroom?" "Sure, second door to the right." They never tell you that the heroine needed to pee while she is finally alone with the protagonist in the vicinity of a bed, but you are sure many of them are dying to run to a loo. You had a large coke at the fair, what do you think your bladder feels like right now?

**XXX**

You come out and he is still standing pretty much at the same spot. Then he smiles again. "Now you have to excuse me, feel yourself at home." He goes to the washroom, and you chuckle. Besides the obvious, you both really needed to wash your hands. Cotton floss is a mess. You wander to the bookshelf and look at the backs of the books. Mystery novels, architecture stuff, Dickens, Star Wars novels, some contemporary stuff. Some architecture magazines on the table, a plant on the sill. As normal as it gets.

He comes out. He took off his jacket and the tie, and the pause is hanging in the middle of the room. You consider your celibacy for the last seven years and sigh. If you don't push yourself right now, you are going to lose your bottle and flee. You step close and wrap your arms around his waist. He smiles and kisses you.

That was easy. You both heat up very quickly, his hands in your hair, and he steps back, the edge of the sofa cuts him down and he flops down pulling you with him. Let's face it, to actually turn you on fully that is the best scenario. You are straddling him and you push your hands into his thick hair. It is short, but it hasn't been cut for a while, and it curls behind his ears and at the nape. The beard is a different question. You will swoon over it later. You are in control of the kiss, grinding your pelvis into him, your hands switching between grabbing handfuls of his gorgeous hair and scraping your nails on the back of his head. Judging by the throaty moans, it is working for him too.

"I haven't had sex in seven years," you are panting it into his mouth and then freeze. Why exactly you said it eludes you. You stop kissing him and look into his eyes. They are that gorgeous blue that changes depending on the mood. Right now they are Carolina blue. You have eidetic memory for colours.

"I am boring in bed." He is still smiling but this time it is a bit self-conscious. "Sorry what?" He puts his large hands on your hips and rubs them gently with his thumbs. "After the divorce I had couple pulls but it was… mediocre," he rubs the tip of his nose with his finger. It is a very funny gesture on him and you giggle. He lifts his brows. "Oh no, I'm not laughing at that! It's just we are an interesting couple." "Yeah, I'm a second rate shag and you write erotic novels." "And I've been mourning my dead husband for seven years." He looks at you tenderly. "And no one since then?" "Nope, never felt like it." You pick up a button on his shirt and twirl it.

"Sometimes it is just not working with a random strangers. I mean, if you just picked up those birds in a bar..." "My wife wasn't impressed either." Oh… You lift your eyes at him. He doesn't look particularly upset though. Sort of just letting you know that's how it is.

You shift on his pelvis. The hardness is still there, and the size is impressive as much as you can gather. More than impressive. So, not performance issues then. You think you should be deeply disturbed how much this situation actually works for you. You really shouldn't be OK with that. But one doesn't need to be a psychoanalyst to understand what is happening here. A dominating man especially of this size would scare the shite out of you right now. And by size you don't just mean height. "So what exactly was the nature of their complains?" You open the top second button on his shirt.

He chuckles and looks a bit surprised. Did he think you will climb off his lap and go home after his astonishing confession? You are breaking your celibacy for him, you might as well follow through. Plus, and you will never admit it but you are so immensely turned on by his passivity.

"Apparently," you pop the next button, "I don't take over control, don't let go, follow the same old moves." You hum to show you are listening and the shirt is fully open. God, that is a glorious chest. Hard muscles and thick black chest hair. The one a heroine will be happily sighing on after a rough mind-blowing tumble on the silken sheets. Which apparently is not on a menu according to him. "And I'm too careful. But seriously, have you seen me? I am six three and pretty heavy. Wouldn't want to crush some vertebra or something."

You decide to act. You lean in and kiss his jaw, then you bite on it, the beard adding an exciting dimension to the experience. Then you slide your mouth on his neck and suck. His hands, previously gently stroking your waist, clench on your dress, and he is breathing really heavily. You catch his mouth, rake your nails on his chest and his body jolts. So this is working for him. You dig your nails a bit harder and his hips buck. And what does it tell us? You unfasten the buckle on his belt and unbutton the trousers, while biting and sucking on his bottom lip. And then you lower your lips to his ear. "Have you considered that you just need a bit of a stricter hand?" You look into his eyes, and this time he is not smiling.

You lift a brow. He clears his throat but doesn't say anything. And then he nods.


	4. Chapter 4

After you peed you peeked in the vanity. Let's face it, there was still a chance that you did the most mental thing in your life and this night would end sadly for you. You didn't find anything special, floss, hair stuff, hardly touched hand cream, a bottle of Davidoff Adventure, which you smelled on him before, and a box of condoms. It is not open and expires this Christmas. So either he is that thorough in creating his persona, or his story checks out. You ripped the box and shove a condom into a pocket of your dress. And then added two more.

**XXX**

You are deepening the kiss, open his lips with your tongue and he reciprocates. "Protection?" His voice is strangled and you reach to your pocket. He is already holding one in his hand. You give him a questioning look. "Kept it in the wallet for the last five months." The rates of condom failure pop in your head. You take it from his hands and throw behind the sofa. Then take one out from your dress. "Integrity issues," you murmur and bite the side of his neck. He guffaws.

You lean back and slide your hand into his pants. How does he even fit in them? The answer is he doesn't. As soon as you circle the base with your fingers, the member rejoices. Literally, it jumps to life and out of the confinement of his underwear. Was it coiled there before like a snail?

In the books you would say that he raspily moans but it sounds more like "grrrrbuh" in reality. You move off him and slide on the floor between his knees. He lifts his head and stares at you. Air Superiority Blue eyes are wide open, pupils dilated. You hold the condom package between your teeth, just the very corner not to puncture the content, you have seen the educational video on Youtube, and then grab the waist of his trousers and the Calvin's, and he lifts his hips. You move them just a bit lower so that you can reach his cock. But not enough to make him close his knees.

And then you change your mind and push the condom back in your pocket. Then you take him in your hand and lower your mouth on him. Another set of meaningless consonants bursts out of him and you push your lips along his length all the way down.

You actually never liked that before. It didn't irk you with Allan but you can't say you ever offered if he wasn't asking. Considering it was a much easier task with him. Right now you feel you might come from the feeling on his hot large cock sliding through your lips. You momentarily think that the next time you want to wear red lipstick to see the traces of your efforts on him. Then you fleetingly question your mental health. Next time? Lipstick? You don't even like red lipstick, you think it looks like ketchup.

You moan and double your efforts. Firstly, you always do your research. You have several boxes of supplies in your closet, when possible most of them were tested. Obviously you had no man to cuff to your bed and try to shag him six ways to Saturday, but you have several sets of various cuffs and restraints, which you studied well. Of course it gives you only a limited understanding but you can always write around the voids. On the other hand, to understand the mechanism of deepthroating on a dildo is not that hard. Secondly, as weird as it sounds, medical journals for more general public provide amazing insights in human intimate practices. Such as the techniques of suppressing your gag reflex, for example by squeezing your thumb in your fisted hand.

He tastes delicious and you get slightly carried away. In just a few seconds he grabs a handful of your hair and you batter his hand away. You really don't want to give up any control at this moment. But then you realize that he is trying to make you let him go. His cock shows all the signs that he is close, and then you do something you have never done before. You take him even deeper, clench your throat around him and he comes, with a raspy cry, his salty seed hitting the back of your throat. You don't know his preferences in this area, so you go with the generally approved technique and continue moving.

He is panting and emitting adorable half sobs, half chuckles, his head dropped at the back of the sofa, his body shaking. You carefully let him go and realize you should probably go wash your face. You rub his knee, "I'll be right back." You rush to the bathroom. You remember an unopen toothbrush in the vanity and grab the toothpaste. You are energetically rinsing your mouth. And there are two thoughts in your head.

First, that you really enjoyed it. Previously, despite all your education in the area you still perceived it as a sort of a favour. It is troublesome, demands a lot of effort and whatever they say rather unsanitary. Right now, you are buzzing with so much pleasure that you are slightly bobbing on your toes and the acute feeling of immense power is running through you. Obviously, the process can be turned around and a woman can be a submissive provider for sexual gratification in this situation, but you feel anything but right now. A pun around the word ravish pops up in your head.

The second thought is that for the first time in your sex life you are not narrating in your head. You were always "writing" in your head with Allan. Given, you were just describing what was happening, it's not like you were fantasizing about someone else instead of him near you, well, maybe once or twice, and obviously after a while your thoughts would jumble, but you realize that once you touch John your head is blissfully empty.

You are not sure if you two are going to go on right now, but there is one thing you need to take care of at the moment. You are wearing endlessly comfortable, but completely unalluring underwear. They are classic briefs, white and plain, and a lot of fabric was used to make them. You consider it and then take them off and stuff them in your pocket. Don't you just love these pockets in a full skirt dress? You can fit your knickers and three condoms in them and still have room for something else.

**XXX**

He knocks at the bathroom door. "Can I?" You open it with a foamy toothbrush still in your hand, and he steps in and sweeps you into a full blown kiss. He is probably consuming a lot of toothpaste right now but he doesn't seem to mind. He wraps his arms around you and presses you into him. His hand slides into your hair, the second one under your skirt and cups your buttocks. You guess it answers the question whether you are going to continue.

At that moment he realizes that his hand is on your naked skin and he makes that "grrrr" sound again. He picks you up and seats you on the sink counter. You drop the toothbrush and push your fingers into his hair. You two are kissing, and you wrap your legs around his waist. The height of the counter is slightly wrong, you are sitting too high, his pelvis is pressed into the drawer door beneath you and not your demanding attention regions. And you don't particularly like that.

You pull him closer and wrap your arms around his neck. "John," he hums into your neck that he is kissing currently, "I want to go to bed now."

He picks you up and carried you to the bedroom. He pauses in front of the bed, clearly thinking how to lower you on it without dislocating some of your or his joints, and then he turns his back to it and simply flops on it. Smart man. You are straddling him again and you are more than fine with it. Judging by a radiant smile on his face he is too.

You grab a condom and push your hand in his still unbuttoned trousers. A bit of shuffling, the pants are down again and you roll out the condom on him. Even if he is indeed lacking in technique, which still has to be determined, he definitely compensates in the recoil time. The cock seems even bigger this time and you chew on your lip. Seven years, no man, Allan was much smaller, and that also sort of lead to your own toys being rather moderate.

Well, as they say in for an inch… You lower yourself on him and yelp. You stretch rather painfully and need to breath through it. He is gently stroking your thighs under your skirt. You push a bit lower and hiss. Alright, it takes couple more seconds to lower yourself fully. He is smiling to you, tenderly, letting you gather your bearings. You lean down and kiss him. He is kissing you ardently, his thumbs rubbing your cheekbones, and you smile into his lips. You press your palms into his shoulders and start to move.


	5. Chapter 5

You move three or four times, it is hard to count when there is a massive penis inside you, hitting your cervix every time you land, and then you come. It makes sense of course, you were almost there when you took him in your mouth, and you haven't been that aroused in seven years. And it is the best position for you anyways. And he is absolutely gorgeous under you.

Your whole body is on fire. This phrase didn't mean much to you before, but now you understand it. The skin is tingly, heated, all muscles first are tense and trembling, almost burning, and then you melt. You fall ahead, pressing your palms into his shoulders, arms surprisingly straight. You are making your usual mewling orgasm sounds. You forgot about them, but you feel too good to be embarrassed about them right now.

It takes a few seconds to go back to reality, although you really don't want to. You haven't been in the magical land of a brain turned off by a powerful orgasm with the help of a hot, alive penis for seven years. You look at John. He is predictably smiling.

He is stroking your hip under the skirt with one hand, while another is gently rubbing your knuckles, and it feels weirdly amazing, his hot palm on your hand. You really don't want to move right now. "Do you want to…?" His voice is soft, "Now that you are… done, do you want to lie down?" You probably look very surprised. "What now? Are you actually offering me to get off?"

He laughs. And it is a guffaw. That is exactly what they call a guffaw, his mouth is open wide, eyes squinted, the white teeth in a gorgeous contrast with the black beard. "I thought you just did." Oh, right, he likes stupid puns.

You smack his shoulder. He chuckles some more. "Wren, I am a big boy and can take of myself. You are having your first sex in seven years, and you are probably exhausted," the hand moves from your waist and he rubs your upper arm. It feels very nice.

Professional curiosity wins over your embarrassment. "What are you going to do if I say yes? Go to the washroom and…?" You vaguely gesture up and down with your loosely fisted hand. He shrugs nonchalantly. He is still one hundred per cent hard inside you. That is actually very impressive.

"We can flip," you are trying to be polite here. He smiles again and it is a bit shy this time, "I'd rather not." "Why?" Are you two really having this conversation? "Because you will be sore tomorrow anyways. And I really don't want to spoil your impression from what is happening in here." And he is saying it with a straight and honest face.

Somehow his calmness spurs you into action. You clench your inner walls, and his breathing hitches. "I would like to address the issue of you thinking you are not a good shag next time," you slightly lift your hips, tightly holding him inside, "but right now I have matters to attend." You slam your pelvis down, and you can actually see his pupils dilate. Like in a video in a human anatomy class. You lift yourself again, and you can feel his chest expanding under your palm. He is taking a deep breath in, bracing himself, and you plunge down again. You dig your nails into him, and he groans loudly. Right, you forgot about that.

You set a nice comfortable rhythm for yourself, adding a bit of a hip twist from time to time, no particular pattern, so that he can't predict when it hits him, and soon enough he is bucking his hips, head tossed back. God, that is one beautiful neck! He is also growling. You take another mental note, the sound effects with him have to really be explored in more details. He grabs your hips, though rather gently, and pushes you down. The cock jerks, and you ride him through the orgasm. He is huffing and puffing, and it is adorable.

He is pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "God, I think I went blind for a second there..." It is your turn to chuckle. You are very comfortable here, he is very nice to sit on. All hard muscles and hot skin. You carefully lift your hips, and he slides out. You lie near him on the bed, and put your hand on his chest. You really want to feel the heart beating there.

He is still panting, one hand pressed to his eyes, but he puts the second on yours. There is a delightful warmth and affection in all his gestures. "I am going to go clean up," he groans and sits up, "and I think I need hydration. Do you want me to get you anything? Or we can go to the kitchen." You are very comfortable here, but kitchen might be a good idea. You are torn. "Some tea would be great." He nods and walks to the bathroom. He is wobbly. You feel rather smug right now.

**XXX**

You are lying on your back pondering his ceiling. The water stops running and then you hear him moving somewhere else in the flat. Then water runs there, and you hear a clang of a kettle being put on an oven. "Earl Grey?" He does have a very nice voice, even if he is yelling from a kitchen. "Sounds great. I'll be in a mo." You really need to get up but you feel very relaxed here.

He peeks into the room and chuckles. You turn your head and enjoy the view. Dark hair sticking out, shirt open, belt unclasped, he is like a present when the gift wrap is already torn and you already know what it is, and it is exactly what you wanted. You think that image can so easily be used in the book you are on right now, but then again, you might keep it to yourself. You are not sure you want to share him.

"Milk? Sugar?" "Do you have honey?" "I'll check." He leaves, and you stretch. He was right, you already feel the soreness you will pay for tomorrow. You haven't felt it for years, you will happily welcome it. You tread to the kitchen and sit at a table. It is just as neat and cozy as the rest of the flat. He places a cup and a plate of biscuits in front of you. He rubs the tip of his nose with the pulp of his finger. That seems to be a quirk of his. "Sorry, no candles and champagne." You laugh. "I don't drink, remember?" "Oh, right." He is looking around. Is he uncomfortable? And you thought he never is.

He flops on the other chair. Yes, he is obviously slightly uneasy. Since this evening is in general strangely revelational, you might as well just ask. "Penny for your thought?" "Can you stay for the night?" He adorably shifts on his chair. "I mean, I have to go to work tomorrow, but we can have breakfast together and..." "I'd love to," you smile, "I have nowhere to go. I work from home, so I'll just drive myself back." He smiles back. "Good," and proceeds to sip his tea.

You two are silently drinking tea. This is called comfortable companionship in your novels. "I have a question," he is back to his mellow self. "Shoot," you have never had better biscuits in your life. "Shower sex." "What about it?' "You mentioned it in the car, and the thought got stuck. Is it actually that uncomfortable?" "Why? Is it something that happens to recur in your fantasies?" You are looking at him about the rim of the cup. He smirks, "Well, in theory it sounds rather appealing. All the foreplay with foamy loofah and washing each other's hair..." "And then you still need to apply conditioner, are you supposed to take a break from groping for that?"

He is pondering it for a moment. "Right, girls use way more products..." "Yep, and there is always a question of lotion after it. If you jump in bed right out of the shower, fifty per cent of girls afterwards will be in agony from dry skin on their shoulder blades, since we do need lotion after each shower." "There is always massage oil..." He has given it a lot of thought, hasn't he?

"If you are that interested, we can conduct an experiment next time," you lift one brow. He smiles and nods. "Can we continue conducting them for an indefinite period of time?" Now he is looking at you over his cup. Is he saying what you think he is saying?

**A/N: Sorry I didn't manage "clothespin" and "teddy bear", but I was so carried away and enjoying writing it that I hit the word count while I still had two scenes in my head. So these two prompts moved into the next chapter. **


	6. Chapter 6

You chew at a biscuit feigning thoughtfulness. You have your answer, to be honest. You think you had it in the bar. He is calm as usual, and you enjoy the view of his lips closing over the rim of the cup. "Sure," you don't think there is much to add here. He nods again, and goes back to his tea. You look around the kitchen.

There are photos on the fridge, and you walk up to it to have a look. Two young men, definitely brothers, a woman of John's age, the same dark waves of hair and long nose, an elderly gentleman with white beard, a group of men, about a dozen of them, there are three photos of them in different circumstance. "My sister, Di, and nephews," his voice is warm, "that's Ken Balinson, my mentor and the senior partner in the firm I used to work in." You pick up the photo of men, there are actually thirteen of them. "My footie team." You screw your eyes at him, "What are you, twelve?" He chuckles, "I am allowed to have a hobby." "Are you the captain? Of course, you are," you shake your head and put the photo back.

The pictures are actually held by little neat clothespins, magnets glued to their backs, and you suddenly think that maybe everything in this flat is so cozy because his ex-wife decorated it. You are not sure how you feel about it. "Do you have oven mitts?" That is usually a give away. He hikes up his brows. "Yes, the second drawer to the left." Funnily enough you have already predicted in your head that he wouldn't ask why.

Are you actually feeling jealous? You have known him for a day, and it just doesn't make sense. And then you get it. You feel proprietary, because you know what it is to be a wife, and you don't want somebody else to have such claim on him now. Now that you agreed to conduct experiments together for an indefinite period of time. He is like that teddy bear you had when you were eight. It was your favourite, until your cousin renamed it. You couldn't accept it after that, and couldn't go back to the old name either. You got stuck in an eternal conflict with yourself, and gave it up for charity. You don't want to give up John for charity.

"Has your wife decorated this flat?" "No, I did," he smiles, "Is it too girly?" You come closer and stand in front of him. He wraps his arms around your middle and nuzzles your boob. You giggle. "I haven't talked to my ex-wife for two years. I also have cornflour and crepe spreader in the cupboard. Because I like to cook." "You are becoming increasingly attractive," you push your fingers into his hair. God, that is orgasmic. You don't have a thing for hair, but suddenly the cliches start making sense. It is thick, silky, curling up behind his ears and at the nape. You scratch his scalp with your nails and, yep, that is purring. You move the mental note regarding the sounds you can elicit out of him to the top of the priority list.

You cup his face, lift it and rub the beard with your thumbs. You decide that all men should have beards from now on. It is deliciously coarse, considering how soft the hair is, it's probably the length. The silver in it does funny things to your inner muscles. There are grey hairs on the temples as well, you haven't noticed them before. "How old are you?"

"Forty three," he is nuzzling your palm now. You just love how he simply answers your questions. "Anything you would like to know about me?" He looks at you and gives it a thought. "How did your husband die?" You continue stroking his jaw. The pain has long ago turned into a scar. "Car accident, slippery road." His eyes are tender. "Children?" Oh, right, you haven't talked about it. You shake your head.

He has amazing eyes. Right now, they are Glaucous Blue, the lashes long and fluffy. You slide the pulp of your thumb on the little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. You rub the hollow on his temple and lean in to kiss him. He presses you a bit closer, and it is wonderful.

**XXX**

You spend some time in the same position, and you offer him different parts to kiss. You tilt your head and the soft lips are on your temple, then the jaw, then the neck. He is smiling into your skin, and then you yawn. It's been a long day. He pulls you onto his lap and envelops you into his arms. "We should probably go to bed," he is murmuring into your hair. Now you can't stop yawning. "Do you want a tee to sleep in?"

You nod and he gets up, theatrically picking you up bridal style. You both laugh, and he carries you to the bedroom. "How fortunate that you already have your own toothbrush here," you poke him between the ribs. He guffaws.

Clad in PJs, teeth brushed and faces washed, you curl into each other under his blanket. That is a very comfortable mattress. And a very comfortable chest to lie on. His hand is on your hip, and you fall asleep with a pleasant surprised thought that your head is still blissfully empty of any text.

**XXX**

His alarm wakes you up, and he is blindly smacking the radio on his side of the bed. Then he moves back and returns to spooning you. He nuzzles your hair sleepily, and you think he is trying to go back to sleep. Should you try to wake him up? He might be late for work. You haven't been responsible for anyone's morning for quite a while.

His hand slides on your bum, and you realize that at least in part he is awake. The key word here is "part". Then you wonder if his love for puns is in fact contagious. You ponder your options and then rub you buttocks to his boner. He rumbles deep in his chest, and his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you in closer and a large palm covers your breast. You wiggle your pelvis in case he had any doubts left regarding your mood.

The hand abandons your breast and slides your panties off your bum. You help him and they are around your right ankle. You try wiggling your leg to get rid of them but they seem stuck in there. And then his lips are on your nape. You slightly turn and peek. His eyes are still closed, a small smile on his lips. He is lovely. Pity, you have to leave the warm circle of his arms. You push away from him. The Tufts Blue eyes fly open, and he lifts his head. You smile to him and stretch to reach your dress. There are still two condoms in the pocket.

Once he understands what you are doing he returns into the cocoon of the banket. You resume your position and open the package. He is kissing your shoulder now, warm palm stroking your hip.

You shuffle and blindly grab his cock. The lips freeze on your neck. You roll the condom out and then remember whom you are dealing with. You guide him in, press your pelvis back into him, and he groans. Then you take his hand and gently lead it to your sex. You put it between your legs and he experimentally stroke your clit with his fingers. You push back, his cock sliding deeper into you. You put your fingers over his and breath out, "Circular movements". He nods and starts moving. He slowly pushes into you, his fingers gently circling your clit. Well, his rhythm is good, endurance you have already tested, let's see if it's easy to make him lose control.

**A/N: For once I'm breaking my rule that I don't use real people as the prototypes for my characters, but seriously, this John totally looks like Richard Armitage at the Popcorn Taxi Q&A in Sydney, 2013. You can find it on Youtube :) **


	7. Chapter 7

He is keeping a stable rhythm, his fingers moving in tight circles on your clit, and he is right. That is boring. It is obvious he can probably go on like that for a while but the overall feeling is slightly mechanical. You also think that with enough mental effort you can convince your body it is having fun. But you really don't want to narrate some steamy descriptions of his manhood in your head. Considering all the prerequisites for a great sex are actually here. The angle is great, and you are very, very full.

You slide your hand behind and grab his arse. He hisses, and the movements of his pelvis stutter. You dig your nails deeper and push your hips back. He picks up speed. Interesting… And then you take his hand from between your legs. You pull it up and close your lips around the tips of his fingers.

You have never done that before. Whatever they say, "she tasted herself on him" always sounded slightly grotty to you. Not that it stopped you from putting it in the text, readers always need to get what they expect. It turns out it is not that bad. Especially considering the growl that elicits out of him. You suck on his fingers harder. He thrusts in your slightly more roughly. That starts showing some promise.

You add a bit of sound in your sucking, and he thrusts harder. His tip hits your cervix, and you moan loudly. That is not an act, the wave of acute pleasure floods your lower stomach. Then he pushes his body from the bed and roll on top of you. He bends his leg and thrusts in. You cry out. He pauses, slightly returning to reality. You push your pelvis up, showing your appreciation. His fingers are still in your mouth and you give them a gentle bite. Well, congratulations, the next sequence of his movements deserves the term "pounding."

You let go of his hand, and he is supporting himself on his elbows, his body heavy and hot, his hips thrusting in you forcefully, and you come with a scream. Your usual repertoire includes weird whimpers. Thank goodness, he made no comment on them yesterday, you are generally very embarrassed by them. But this time there is a nuclear explosion in your head and your vagina. You scream, clench your teeth and continue moaning loudly for a little bit. You have never before had an orgasm when having sex from behind. Now you understand everyone's infatuation with the position.

He is still and shaking, and you realize he is holding himself back to let you recover. You are grateful, but it is absolutely unnecessary. You clench your walls and push your bum back forcefully. He jumps into action and starts pounding you into the sheets. Oh, that is simply delicious!

He comes with a snarl, and you think you hear a swearing. Oh, please, tell me it was the string of dirty words you think you heard! That would be so delightful! He falls down on you. It takes him a few second and gather some shreds of consciousness and lift his torso on his elbows. He is panting loudly.

He nuzzles your nape, and you feel his soft warm lips on your skin. Perfect feeling at the perfect time. He is perfect. "Should I apologise, or should I thank you?" His voice is raspy and cordial, "Or both?" You slightly turn your head and look at him. "What on Earth would you apologise for?" He bobs his pelvis to demonstrate, and it feels hilarious. "I got slightly carried away." You chuckle. "I thought I was quite obviously pushing you to". He is now kissing your shoulder. Goosebumps cover your back, it just feels so good. "That you were", that delicious scratching of his beard, is that him smiling into your skin?

"Why do I feel like you are going to throw me a dog biscuit now?" You start laughing. "I haven't even started training you yet," he gives out a low throaty chuckle, "but you do deserve a treat for what just happened." You carefully turn, conscious of him slipping out of you, and lie on your back. He slightly lifts his torso allowing you more room. You wrap your arms around his neck. He is quite obviously keeping his hips lifted not to press his cock into you. Thank you very much, it is probably rather sticky.

"How about next time we fulfill some long harboured fantasy of yours?" He kisses you and for a while that is all you can think about. Well, to not think, to be more precise. Your head is completely empty. He tears his mouth from yours and looks you in the eyes.

"I am done at six. Do you want to have dinner with me?" You smile and nod. He is kissing you again.

**XXX**

"Gerome pulled her trembling body into him, his lips greedy and frighteningly skillful. She moaned and pressed her palms into his chest. Arousal was flooding her body, but she was determined to fight his allure till the end. His dark beard scratches her skin..." Wait, Gerome is blond! And doesn't even have a beard!

You are banging your head to the table. In the last three hours you wrote a page. Which is one fifth of your usual norm. You sharpened the pencils you don't need, had a cuppa, snacked, twice, and were giddily twirling on your desk chair. And all because you are daydreaming of a certain dark haired architect.

Bling! The text is from John. _Sorry to distract you, just wanted to say I cannot wait to see you later. J. _Awww, he is such a sweet darling! You shake your head, you need to concentrate. Gerome finally lured Theresa in his flat and she needs to fight the appeal of his irresistible abs and strong sensual hands. You pop a cheerio into your mouth and go back to the keyboard. Alright, getting rid of the beard. "...to fight his allure till the end. She felt him smile into the skin of her throat, and seemingly against her will her fingers slid into his hair." And as we all know now, it can be very, very pleasant. "Gerome growled..." Wait, that is absolutely out of character, he needs to be cold and calculative. You push the keyboard away. That is getting ridiculous!

Your phone rings. Thank goodness, a legitimate excuse to get distracted! It's Thea. "Alright, give it to me, tell me how horrible it was and how you couldn't wait for it to end." Her tone is peevish. She is obviously just out of a business meeting, they always make her grumpy. "Hello to you too, dearest!"

Big mistake. You can almost see her imaginary cat ears perk up. "Well, aren't you a cheery one today? How was it?" That is her stalking an innocent victim tone. "I have to admit. it was... nice. He is nice. We had a nice evening." She obviously didn't expect that. She expected you being either defensive for not going at all, or irritated by the dinner. "And?" "I think I will see him again. He was very nice. Smart, mildly attractive, not too boring." Fantasy and fiction are your vocation. Surely, you can deceive one person.

"Uh-huh," she is pondering. You are holding your breath. "What aren't you telling me, Wren?" Besides the fact that he has a massive schlong and you shagged him twice by now, not counting a fellatio you performed and actually enjoyed? "I don't know, Thea, what am I not telling you? There isn't much to say. He is… nice. So thank you for making me go, it was surprisingly lovely."

"How was sex?" Her tone is even, and you choke on a cheerio. He might have impaled your intellectual abilities by his prowess between the sheets but you are still not a dimwit. "Very funny, Thea. Nice try. Listen, I'm sorry I have to go back to the manuscript..." You hear her sigh, she was probably hoping for something more exciting.

"Well, I guess it could have been worse. Listen, do you want to grab a dinner tonight? I can even order take-out and come to your place." Oh, dear.

"I am sorry, pet, I can't. I have this deadline, and I need to really sink my teeth in it." The mental image of sinking your teeth into a certain architect floats in your brain, and you press your knees together.

Thea is silent for a moment. "You just sent in the previous novel. What's the hurry?" Oh my God, she is onto you. You chew on your lip. "Wren?" Oh, that is one scary tone.

"Alright! I confess, I'm having another dinner with John today!" "What John?" She sounds confused, "Oh, I forgot he is John. Wait, really?" "Yes, really, we liked each other a lot, and he invited me for dinner today again. I'm picking him up from work at six fifteen." She squeals in delight.

"What are you wearing?" Denim and a sweater, since you are picking up take-out and go to his place. Hopefully, cue shagging on that sofa you started on last night. "I am not sure yet. Maybe the dress you made me buy last month?" "Hm," Thea is pondering, "I'll be at your place at five and we can brainstorm." Oh, no! You sigh, there is no saying no to Thea. You might as well accept your fate. She will pull all the details out of you and them will make you put on that black corset you bought for research.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: FF site had a glitch so it didn't let me upload anything yesterday. Thus, my lovelies, today you are getting two chapters in "We are Scattered Through Time and Space," this chapter for "Blind Carnival," the next chapter for "Thorin's Defeat" and a new multi-chapter fic :P **

**Maybe I should reconsider my life pursuits and priorities. I seem to be writing a wee bit much FF a day… :D**

You bloody hate Thea. You are sitting in your car, and you are so uncomfortable in so many ways, that you are half certain you should just start the engine and go home. Your eyes feel like you put Tabasco in them instead of contact lenses drops, your hair is pulled up in a bun that is so bloody tight that you are not certain how you manage to blink, and the wires of your new red bra are burrowing into your ribs.

She dolled you up, despite all your attempts to scale the importance of this evening down. You might have made a mistake of actually looking interested when she opened the box with the knickers and the bra in front of you. In the hindsight, you should have pretended to be terrified and call her a perv. It is only your second dinner! But you just couldn't reign your interest, could you, Wren, you trollop! But they were so gorgeous! And you imagined his beard pressed into it and his white teeth dragging the little triangle of lace down, and she noticed.

You squirm on the seat, the narrow strip of lace cutting between your buttocks, and you curse the contemporary perception of sexuality. Were you living in the nineteenth century, you would have enormous drawers, all lacy and going down to your knee, and would still be considered frisky and loose. And now you have this torture device on you and feel like a dog in a harness.

You are parked in front of John's office building. As it is always the case when you are nervous, you are too early. The front door opens, and he comes out with a colleague. They are chatting, and the bloke claps John on his shoulder. You recognize him from the photo on the fridge. One of the footie team, a huge bloke with massive arms and shaved head. John sees your car and hurriedly says his goodbyes.

He slips on the passenger seat and opens his mouth to say hello. And no sound comes out. He is staring at you, and you don't blame him. The Mantis green wrap dress, mid thigh, sexy hairstyle showing your neck, and even make-up. Have you mentioned you are overwhelmed with desire to claw your eyes out at the moment?

"Oh wow..." His eyes are roaming your face and then slide on the cut of the dress and down to your legs. He clears his throat, "I mean wow..." You chuckle. "I thought we were having a quiet dinner at home… I mean I'm wearing a jumper and trainers..." You rush to reassure him, "We are! It's just my friend Thea came over, and she insisted on this!" You gesture around the low cut of your dress, and his eyes are predictably there. "I can never say no to Thea. She is like a forest fire..." He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. If you could actually talk at the moment, you would also have said "Oh wow..." Because it is so bloody hot! You immediately stop regretting the knickers. If just a dress worked so well, what is he going to do when he sees Thea's gifts?

He pulls away and clears his throat. "Sorry, that was a bit sudden..." You are smiling and then lean in again and catch his mouth. This one is slightly less rushed, but it still feels amazing. Then you extricate yourself out of his arms and start the car. "Where to?" He is panting, God honest panting. "My place?" "We were supposed to get some dinner." Bloody hell, the dress is working. "Sod it, let's go to my place," his voice is husky, and you give him a sideways glance. He adorably shakes his head to clear his thoughts and adds softly, "If you don't mind." You don't.

You rush through the lobby of his building, he is striding ahead, in giant steps, pulling you after him. You wave to the concierge, and he waves you back. The lift doors close, and he pulls you in. You are wearing heels today, so it is a bit easier, but he is still very tall. You have to drop your head back, and he is bending awkwardly, but it is still very nice. Isn't it what you said to Thea? That he is nice. Never in the history of understatement was there a bigger understatement.

The doors open, and he rushes out and towards his door, dragging you after him. You giggle. Such a difference from yesterday. He fumbles with the key and growls. Right, the sounds. That is next on your list. You really need to explore the delicious growls, purring and gasps, but first there is this one thing… The door flies open, he pushes you inside, and slams it behind him. Then he picks you up and hikes you up. Your legs go around his waist, arms around his neck and he literally dashes to his bedroom. He repeats the maneuver from yesterday with flopping on the bed, you end up straddling him again, and he pulls your head down, his lips press into yours, and his hand slides up your thigh.

And then you stop and scatter off him. He is frozen, spread on his bed, one hand still in the air, where your thigh was just a second ago. He lifts his head and stares at you in confusion. You are standing in front of his bed, one brow lifted. Oh, the sweet power!

He sits up. "Have I done something wrong?" You chuckle, "No, but I decided we need to savour it. I don't think I will agree on this torture again any time soon." He lifts his brows in perplexity. He is so delicious at the moment, hair sticking out and cheeks flushed that you just want to kiss every inch of him. Wait, you can actually do that!

"What torture?" "All this," you twirl in front of him, letting him enjoy the way the skirt hugs your backside. The back of the dress is very low, and he tentatively stretches his hand and runs the tips of his fingers along your shoulder blades. You immediately cover in goosebumps. The man is sexy as hell and has no idea!

You push the dress off your shoulders and let it pool on your waist. "Oh fuck..." His eyes widen. You smile, and he gently slides his hands around your ribs and pulls you closer. He is studying the bra, and blush rises all over your cleavage. Then he slowly lowers his lips between your breasts, and you shiver. He is slowly kissing the edge of the lace, his hands tightening on your back, and then his mouth slides on your nipple through the lace.

You drop your head back and arch into him. The lace gets wet, he is slightly sucking on it, and you pull his hair. He lets you go and lifts his eyes at you. You push him to the second breast, and he complies. You moan and scrape the back of his head.

You push the dress down your legs and on the floor, and his breathing catches. "Oh god..." He slightly leans back and stares at the knickers. You also shaved, and he can see the clean shaven skin through the lace. He visibly gulps and jerks the collar of his jumper. You really hope he doesn't have a weak heart, he looks dizzy, and he is hyperventilating.

You step closer and lift his chin with your index finger, making him look into your eyes. The intoxicating feeling of power is running through your neurons. You pick up the hem of his jumper and pull it off. And then the tee. And then you go down on your knees and open the buckle on his trousers. He is still staring at you. You push him on the bed and pull the trousers off, and the pants while you at it anyways. God, his passiveness is the best turn on!

You crawl over him on all four and survey your prey. His fingers on the sheet twitch but he is not touching you. There is a soft smile on his lips, and you are glad you both understand the rules of this game. Speaking of kissing every inch of him…

Your lips explore, hands follow, his gently touch the lace of your bra and stroke your skin in feather like caresses. You shortly wonder when you two managed to negotiate such lovely rules of engagement. You guess it just came naturally to both of you. And with the boldness surprising you more than anybody, you ask, "How are your oral skills, John?" He gives out a throaty chuckle. "Mediocre..." You hum, licking his hipbone. "I am willing to work on them though..." That is the answer you wanted to hear. You are straightening over him, his waist between your knees, and you ask, "How open are you to education?" He smiles widely, "Immensely."


End file.
